Say Can You See
by Letthehaeus
Summary: "Because, if you could love someone, and keep loving them, without being loved back, then that love had to be real. It'd hurt too much to be anything else." ― Sarah Cross, Kill Me Softly - College!Faberry fic.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **_Hi! This is a College!Faberry fanfic, everything up until S04E12 is pretty much canon. Hope you guys enjoy it! _

**Disclaimer:** _I do not own Glee or any of this characters. Just having a bit fun._

* * *

"I suppose the best thing about being in college is to have an actual chance to change yourself without dealing with the others," she said. "You know, changing things a bit without losing your personality. Only appearance, and maybe a few habits."

"What, like you, you mean?"

"I didn't change my personality. Well, maybe a bit, but change is good, isn't it?"

They lay in silence for a moment, bodies curled around each other in the single bed, then both began to laugh in low, predawn voices. "I can't believe I just said that." Rachel groaned. "Old Rachel would harangue on how I should be proud of who I am, and stay like this forever."

"Well, she'd be right."

"I'm trying to fit in!" She turned to face Quinn. "Have you seen the girls in my dance class? They are perfect, Quinn, and you know what, that's what you should do when you are in New York. I've left every bad memory of mine with Finn in Ohio, and I'm not going back."

"These words sound pretty familiar, don't you think?"

Rachel's brows furrowed as she didn't want to argue about what Quinn just said. "So what are you going to do then? Are you going to the wedding?"

"Well, Frannie is finally going to introduce her fiancé to my mom, I can't miss this, then I'll spend a couple of days there, see some old friends. Then—"

"Very nice—"

"Then I'll catch up with Puck, see what's going on in his life, then maybe we will visit Beth—"

"Beth," Rachel sighed.

"What's wrong with visiting Beth?"

"You didn't send her a Christmas card."

"I sent her Christmas gifts," Quinn closed her eyes and shook her head, didn't want to mention that she actually wrote a Christmas card for her, like always. "She doesn't even know how to talk, Rachel. She wouldn't understand."

Rachel sniffed. "S'alright, I suppose, you can wish her a merry Christmas when you are there. It's better than Christmas cards with cheap words, believe me. Shelby still sends me those on Hanukkah, because she is actually afraid of hearing my voice."

"You deserve better than her," Quinn said, rising onto one elbow and kissing her softly.

"You are nothing like Shelby," Rachel said, turning her face away, for the moment at least. "You are trying to be a part of Beth's life, and that means something, Quinn."

They settled again on the pillow. "Anyway, I'm not going back to Ohio. I know I should be there to support Kurt—" Rachel paused, and sighed dramatically. "You know what, fuck Kurt. He is nothing but pain in the ass, lately."

"Fuck Kurt?" Quinn said, smiling as Rachel turned to kiss her softly. "I never thought you would swear," she breathed.

"I wouldn't. Not out loud, anyway."

"Is he really that bad?" She began to nuzzle at the brunette's neck.

"Since he started dating that Adam guy," Rachel sighed sadly, caressing pale arms wrapped around her. "Chop logic."

"Chop logic!" Quinn was imitating her voice now, her soft accent, trying to make her sound daft.

Rachel shrugged herself away until her back was pressed against the cool of the wall. "That's what he is doing! I told him joining that club is social and career suicide. That show choir is, like, the lowest of the low."

"Why did he join them, then?"

"Adam, duh!"

"So, what's the problem? You told me he watched him performing, didn't you? He is just starstruck. We all have been there."

"Have we really?"

"Well, at least you have." She turned suddenly and reached for the cigarettes on the floor by the side of the bed, as if to steady her nerves. "It's the reason why you dated Finn."

Smiling at her anxiety, Rachel decided to make it worse. "I was in love with Finn."

She lit her cigarette thoughtfuly. "Well, you think you were, Rach but—"

"Rach? Who is Rach?"

"People call you Rach. I've heard them."

"Yeah, friends call me Rach."

"So can I call you Rach?"

"Go on then, Quinnie."

"Don't call me that. My parents used to call me Quinnie. Well, my mom still does."

Rachel peered up at Quinn through her fringe as she leant against the headboard and even without her spectacles on it was clear why she might want to stay exactly this way. Eyes closed, the cigarette glued languidly to her lower lip, the dawn light warming the side of her face through the red filter of the curtains, she was like an artwork. Rachel thought 'beautiful' was a silly, subjective word, but there really was no other word for it, except perhaps 'gorgeous'. She had one of those faces where you were aware of the bones beneath the skin, as if even her bare skull would be attractive. A fine nose, and pale smooth skin. There was something different about her: eyebrows fine, mouth pouty in a self-conscious way, lips a shade too dark and full, but dry and chapped now. Her long blonde hair was a mess because of hours of dancing, drinking and making out.

Still with her eyes closed, she exhaled smoke through her nose. _Who do you think you are, Rachel? Grow up. Be sensible. Don't get carried away_. She plucked the cigarette from her mouth. "This isn't good for your health," she said, a hint of malice in her voice. "When did you start smoking anyway?"

Quinn smiled without opening her eyes. "Ex-boyfriend."

"I still can't believe you actually dated a 35 year-old married professor."

She scrunched her face. "Let's not talk about him. It was a huge mistake—"

"But it's true! You dated him. I mean, are you serious, Quinn? That man have kids, and even though his marriage wasn't going well, he should've tried to fix it, instead of trying to get in his students' pants. It must be a reason why her wife refuses to touch him." She came to an abrupt halt. _You sound insane_, she told herself._ Do try not to sound insane_. "And last year, when Shelby and Puck—"

"Maybe I should go then. If I'm a homewrecker—"

"No, don't go," Rachel said, a little too quickly. "It's four in the morning."

Quinn shuffled up the bed until her face was a few inches from Rachel's "I don't know why you think you have all right to judge me, you barely know me."

"What are you talking about? I've known you for five years."

"What's my favorite movie?"

"Your favorite movie is—" Rachel's brow furrowed as she tried to figure out where Quinn was going with this line of questioning. "Mean Girls?"

"Funny," Quinn said coldy, moving even closer to Rachel. "So if I'm so awful—' Her hand was on Rachel's hip now.

"—which you are."

"—then why are you sleeping with me?" Her hand was on the warm soft flesh of Rachel's thigh.

"Actually, I don't think I have slept with you, have I?"

"Well, that depends." Quinn leant in and kissed her. "Define your terms." Her hand was on the base of Rachel's spine, her leg slipping between hers.

"By the way," she mumbled, her mouth pressed against Quinn's.

"What?" She felt Rachel's leg snake around hers, pulling her closer.

"You need to brush your teeth."

"I don't mind if you don't."

"You are horrible." she laughed. "You taste of alcohol, and cigarettes."

"So do you."

Rachel's head snapped away, breaking off the kiss. "Do I?"

"I don't mind. I like alcohol, and cigarettes."

"Eww!" She flung the duvet back, clambering over Quinn.

"Where are you going now?" Quinn placed her hand on Rachel's bare back. She stood, one arm across her chest, careful to keep her back to Quinn. "Don't go away," she said, padding out of the room, hooking two fingers into the elastic of her underpants to pull the material down at the top of her thighs. "And don't fall asleep while I'm gone."

Quinn exhaled through her nose and shuffled up the bed, taking in the room, knowing with absolute confidence that somewhere in amongst the art postcards and photocopied posters for Broadway shows there would be a photograph of Finn Hudson, like some dreamy ideal boyfriend. She watched the smoke curl from her mouth. Feeling for an ashtray, she found a book at the side of the bed. _How To Be Successful_.

At nineteen, Quinn Fabray's vision of her future was not clear like Rachel's. She hoped to be successful, to make her mother and sister proud. She wanted to feature in magazine articles, and hoped one day for a retrospective of her work, without having any clear notion of what that work might be. She wanted to live life to the extreme, but without any mess or complications. She wanted a life with a lot of fun and no more sadness than absolutely necessary.

It wasn't much of a plan, and already there had been mistakes. Tonight, for instance, was bound to have repercussions: tears and awkward phone-calls and accusations. She should probably get out of here as soon as possible, maybe she could take an early train to New Haven. From the bathroom came an angelic melody, and she hurriedly replaced the book. With the soft morning voice of Rachel, she felt hopeful again, and decided that she might stay a little longer at least.

In the bathroom, Rachel wiped the crescents of toothpaste from the corner of her mouth and wondered if this was all a terrible mistake. Here they were, after three year of fighting without a reliable reason, finally became friends, Quinn gave her tickets and wanted to keep in touch with her, and in just a few hours she'd be gone. Forever probably. She was hardly likely to ask her to go on a date. She probably was straight as a ruler, and this all was a drunken mistake for her.

From the bed, Quinn watched Rachel appear in the doorway, wearing Quinn's large Yale sweatshirt, her leg hooked mock-seductively around the doorframe. "What do you think?"

"Suits you. Now, take it off and come back to bed."

"No way. Two weeks ago, I stole it from your closet. You didn't even notice." She spinned around as if she was a little kid. Quinn grabbed her wrist, but she stole a soft kiss from Quinn's lips before sitting on the edge of the bed. Quinn had one last glimpse of Rachel's naked back and the curve of her breast before they disappeared beneath a black t-shirt that demanded unilateral nuclear disarmament now.

"Of course, I noticed. It's my favorite sweatshirt." Quinn cleared her throat. "Where is Santana anyway?"

"Oh, she is just next door."

Quinn flinched. "God, really?"

Rachel laughed. "Not really. Last time I checked, she was with a girl named Anna. I guess she is at her apartment, now." she said, nudging Quinn to the cool side of the mattress. Quinn allowed her in, sliding one arm somewhat awkwardly beneath her shoulders, kissing her neck speculatively. Rachel turned to look at her, her chin tucked in.

"Quinn?"

"Mhm?"

"Let's cuddle."

"Of course. If you want," Quinn said gallantly, though in truth she had never really seen the point of cuddling. Cuddling was for great aunts and teddy bears. Cuddling gave her cramp. "Where are you going, again?" She asked as Rachel tried to sit up on the bed.

"To pull the curtain."

"Why?"

"I don't want you to see me like this."

Quinn frowned deeply, looking into big chocolate eyes, full with insecurity. "Like what?"

"Half-naked."

Quinn laughed softly, placing a kiss on the top of Rachel's head as she pulled her closer again. Wrapping her arms around the smaller girl tight, she whispered near her ear. "You have nothing to worry about. Your body is perfect."

They lapsed into silence again. They had been talking, and kissing, for the last six hours, and both had that deep, whole body fatigue that arrives at dawn. Blackbirds were singing in the overgrown back garden.

"I love that sound," Rachel mumbled into Quinn's neck.

"I hate it. Makes me think I've done something I'll regret."

"That's why I love it," Rachel said, smiling sheepishly for a moment, then she added, "Why, have you?"

"What?"

"Done something you regret?"

"What, this you mean?" Quinn squeezed Rachel's tiny hand. "Oh, I expect so. Don't know yet, do I? Ask me in the morning."

"Why, have you?"

Quinn pressed her mouth against Rachel's pouty lips. "Of course, not." she said, and thought this must never, ever happen again. If she left now she would probably never see this face again, except perhaps at some terrible reunion in ten years. Best to leave quietly, and no reunions. Move on, look to the future. Plenty more faces out there, but as she made her decision, Rachel's mouth stretched open into a wide smile and without opening her eyes she said, "So, what do you think, Quinn?"

"About what, Rach?"

"Me and you. Is it love, don't you think?" and she gave a low laugh, her lips tightly closed.

"Just go to sleep, will you?"

"Stop staring at my face then." She opened her eyes, light brown eyes, bright and shrewd. "What's tomorrow?" she mumbled.

"Today you mean?"

"Today."

"It's a Sunday."

Rachel frowned. "What happened to Saturday?"

Quinn laughed softly. "You spent it with me, drinking, dancing, talking and well, kissing."

"I still feel kinda tipsy." she mumbled into the pillow.

Quinn laughed once again, then raised her head sleepily.

"But Quinn?"

"Yes, sweetie?"

"What are you doing later?"

_Tell her that you're busy._

"Nothing much," Quinn said.

"So shall we do something then? You and me, I mean?"

_Wait until she's asleep then sneak away._

"Yeah. Alright," she said. "Let's do something."

Pleased with her answer, Rachel curled closer into her. "We should get some sleep first."

"Mhm."

Rachel let out a soft sigh, settling her head on Quinn's shoulder territorially, and they lay like this, rigid and self-conscious for some time before Rachel asked, "We are friends, right?"

Quinn smiled bitterly. "Kind of."

...


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hi, y'all. Thank you for all the reviews, follows and favorites. This fic will go on in a different way than usual, but we will have flashbacks at some point. Hope you enjoy this one! **

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Glee or any of this characters. Just having a bit fun.

* * *

**3 weeks later.**

**_February, 2013_**

"_How is Lima? How is everybody? I imagine you right now at Breadstix, drinking one of those fancy cappuccinos, and smiling at the awful taste. You're probably wearing sunglasses to read this. Well take them off, you look ridiculous. Did you get the books I sent you? There are very good stuff in them. I hope you read them! How is Puck? Please, promise me you're not sleeping with one of your ex-boyfriends. That would just be so disappointing._

_Must go now. Bottom of page looms, and in the other room I can hear the thrilling murmur of our audience as they throw chairs at each other. I finish this job in two weeks, THANK GOD, then Brody, also happens to be our director, wants me to devise a show for old Broadway._

_In the meantime, I'd explained to Brittany who Virginia Woolf was, she said that she really, really wanted to play her, but only if she can take her top off, so that's the casting sorted. I'll be Emily Dickinson, and keep my top on. I'll reserve you tickets._

_Are you coming back to New York soon? Maybe we could spend some time just two of us?_"

"Just two of us?" Rachel hesitated, shook her head and groaned, then wrote "Just kidding!" She groaned again. 'Just kidding' was exactly what people wrote when they meant every word. Too late to scribble it out now, but how to sign off? 'All the best' was too formal, 'all my love' too corny, and now Brody was in the doorway once again.

"Okay, places everyone!" Sorrowfully he held the door open as if leading them to the firing squad, and quickly, before she could change her mind, she wrote—

'_God I miss you, Quinn._'

—then her signature and a single kiss scratched deep into the pale blue air-mail paper.

* * *

Shrewd green eyes in a heart-shaped face under a mess of expensively dishevelled blonde hair, her dress undone one button too far, an immaculate mess. She saw her approach and her face cracked with a wide smile.

"Forty-five minutes late, Q. Where have you been?"

"Over there watching you chat up the waiters."

"Don't tell Jack." She knocked the table with her hip as she stood and hugged Quinn. "Where have you been though?"

"Just preparing things for the wedding." Her hair was wet from the shower, as she brushed it from her forehead, her hand cupping the side of Quinn's face fondly, Quinn realised that her sister was already a little drunk.

She pouted sceptically. "And where did you get to last night? We waited all night."

"I was at Puck's."

"Ex, huh? They are always gold, aren't they?" She placed a cigarette between her lips and Quinn lit it with her match. "Now quickly, tell me about your love-life."

"No!"

"Come on, Quinnie! You know I'm forced to live vicariously through my little sister."

"Are you drunk?"

"I must be the perfect girl of our family, remember?"

"You are drunk."

"I don't drink, remember?" When Quinn was twelve she had solemnly taken her into the kitchen one night and in a low voice instructed her how to make a dry Martini, like their parents. "Come on then. Spill the beans, all the juicy details."

"I have nothing to say."

"No one at Yale? No nice handsome gentlemen?"

"Nope."

"Not a professor, I hope."

"Of course not."

"What about back home? Who's been writing you those long tear-stained letters we keep forwarding?"

"None of your business."

"Don't make me steam them open again, just tell me!"

"There's nothing to tell."

Frannie sat back in her chair. "Well, I'm disappointed in you. What about that nice girl who came to stay that time?"

"What girl?"

"Pretty brunette. Got drunk and shouted at you."

"That was Rachel Berry."

"Rachel Berry. I liked her. Mom liked her too, even if she called her nympho." Quinn winced at the memory. "I don't mind, at least she had a bit of fire, a bit of passion. Not like Puckerman. That guy thinks with his dick"

"You really are drunk, aren't you?"

"So what about this Rachel?"

"Rachel is just a friend."

"Is she now? Well I'm not so sure. In fact I think she likes you."

"Everyone likes me. It's my curse."

In her head it had sounded fine: raffish and self-mocking, but now they sat in silence and she felt foolish once again, like at those parties where her mother would allow her to sit with the grown-ups and she would show-off and let her mother down.

She smiled at Quinn indulgently, and squeezed her hand as it rested on the table. "Be nice, won't you?"

"I am nice, I'm always nice."

"But not too nice. I mean don't make a religion out of it, niceness."

"I won't." Uncomfortable now, she began to glance around Breadstix.

Frannie nudged her arm. "So do you want another bottle of wine, or shall we go back to home?"

They began to walk north through the back streets, Quinn began to feel better, enjoying the satisfaction of knowing a city well. She hung woozily on her arm.

"So how long are you planning to stay here then?"

"I don't know. A few weeks maybe."

"But then you will go back to New Haven, won't you?"

"Of course."

"I don't mean like—"

"There isn't any rush, is there?"

"Well it's been two weeks, Quinn. How much holiday do you need?"

"I'm not on holiday, I'm here for the wedding."

"Anyway. So what about drama classes? How are they going? We all will be so proud of our pretty actress."

What she really wanted was to be a photographer. At sixteen she had completed a photo-project called 'Texture', full of black and white close-ups of tree bark and sea-shells which had apparently 'blown' her art teacher's mind. Nothing that she had done since had given her as much satisfaction as 'Texture' and those high-contrast prints of frost on windows and the gravel in the driveway.

"Being an actress is a possibility."

_No, professional photography was her best bet_. She decided to try saying it out loud.

"Actually, I'm thinking about photography."

"Photography?" Frannie gave a maddening laugh.

"Hey, I'm a good photographer!"

"—when you remember to take your thumb off the lens."

"Aren't you meant to be encouraging me?"

"What kind of photographer? Glamour?" She gave a throaty laugh. "Or are you going to continue your work on Texture!" and they had to stop while she stood in the street laughing for some time, doubled over, holding onto Quinn's arm for support and she stood and straightened her face. "Quinn, I am so, so sorry."

"I'm actually much better now."

"I know you are, I'm sorry. I apologise." They began to walk again. "You must do it, Quinn, if that's what you want."

Frannie squeezed her arm with her elbow, but Quinn felt sulky.

"We've always told you that you can be anything you want to be, if you work hard enough."

"It was just a thought,' she said, petulantly. "That's all."

Frannie took hold of her arm and they began walking slowly again. "I just want you to make mom proud, that's all. I mean I'm already proud of you, and mom as well, but, well, you know what I mean. I'm a little drunk. Let's change the subject."

"Oh – too late." They were in sight of the house now. "Let's talk tomorrow."

"Okay," she said, sulkily. Frannie was smiling but frowning too, squeezing her hand a little too hard, and she felt a sudden pang of anxiety. "Why?"

"Because I want to talk to you about something, but I'm a little too drunk right now, I think."

"What is it? Tell me now!"

"It's nothing, nothing."

"You told my mom about my sexuality, didn't you?"

She gave a low laugh. "Don't be ridiculous, of course not."

"So tell me, what is it?"

"I'm in love with my roommate." Standing on the street she gave her a bitter smile.

"Are you breaking up with Jack?"

"Of course not."

"Wait a minute—" Quinn widened her eyes as she brushed her fingertips against her lips. "Your roommate is Jessica, I mean, she is—"

"Yeah, she—"

"What are you going to do?"

"I don't know."

Quinn pulled Frannie into a hug, wrapping her arms around her sister tight, showing the love they had never been able to show each other for all those years. They both started crying quietly until Frannie broke the silence. "Call Rachel."

"I will."

* * *

"Hello."

She felt like her heart breaking into little pieces when she heard the soft sleepy voice. She took her bottom lip between her teeth, "Hey, Rach."

"Oh my God! Quinn! Is that really you?"

Quinn smiled bitterly, it was very late. "Well, I believe so, yes."

"God, tell me everything. You have no idea how much I missed your voice, and please tell me about the wedding. How did everything go? Santana called me earlier, said you looked like a princess in that dress. I wish I could see it, but I can see the pictures later on Facebook, right?"

_She couldn't take it anymore_.

"Rach—"

"Are you crying?"

_She was. For 3 hours_.

"Maybe."

"Why are you crying?"

_I love you._

"I missed you."

"I missed you, too."

_She couldn't help but wonder if she told exactly what she was thinking, would the answer still be the same._

"I'm so sorry, Rach. I was being an asshole. I shouldn't have sneaked away in the morning, and I promised you, we would do something that day."

"It's okay. I'm not mad, I knew you would freak out."

_She did. Really did._

"I did."

"Please come back to me."

_I'm always right next to you_.

"I will."

"Promise me, Quinn, but keep your promise this time. I need you."

_I need you more than ever._

"I promise, Rach."

...


End file.
